Hidden Inside a Nondescript Paper Bag
by gleefullyyours
Summary: Fifth in my NYC future!fic series, but set during college years. Rachel goes to a Tasteful Treasures party, and Finn isn't too excited about it. That is, until he visits her for the weekend and realizes there are perks...for both of them.


**Title:** Hidden Inside a Nondescript Paper Bag

**Pairing: **Finn/Rachel

**Rating:** NC-17

**Author's Note:** AU future!fic, written for the 2010 Porn Battle for a F/R prompt of "sex toys" (so yeah, it's pretty much smut with a plot). I have a friend who sells Tasteful Treasures, so I know _all_ about these products. The items Finn and Rachel try out are real, and truly do produce those effects! ;) I like to think Rachel would really be this way, partly clinical about the products and the way they work, but a bit naughty at the same time.

This story is fifth in this series, but set during college years - I'm imagining them as second-semester juniors here. Did I leave enough clues between this story and others as to the location of both of their universities? :)

* * *

Finn (4:23 PM): Class canceled 2nite. Prof is sick. Want 2 chat after dinner?

His fingers tap quickly at the keypad, typing out a message he hopes will get to her before she leaves for her 4:30 class. He does, however, take the time to use correct capitalization and punctuation for her benefit, even if a couple of text-speak abbreviations sneak in. She won't mind.

Rachel (4:25 PM): I'd love to, but I can't tonight! Going to Becky's for a Tasteful Treasures party at 7. I'll be back late, and I have Chem Lab at 8 tomorrow morning! I'll text before bed. Love you. :)

The phone vibrates twice in his hand, her message overflowing onto a second page. Why she takes the time to type out each apostrophe, to place two spaces between each sentence is beyond him, but it's very Rachel, and it makes him smile.

Then her words sink in, and the keys beep rapidly beneath his fingers again. Screw capitalization – he barely puts the question mark at the end of the sentence before he presses send.

Finn (4:26 PM): what kind of party?

His eyebrows knit together and he holds the phone in his palm, waiting for her response. Maybe she wrote that wrong. Maybe she's really going to a Tastefully Simple party, and she'll be nibbling on breads and dips and cakes all evening. His mom had one of those parties once, and he'd made himself a little smorgasbord from the leftovers, standing at the refrigerator with the door open and trying out every delicious treat.

But no. She definitely wrote Tasteful Treasures, and he definitely knows what that is.  
He probably shouldn't have a clue, but his reason for knowing is innocent enough – the misfortune of being grouped for a project last semester with two, ahem, _interesting_ girls and one other guy. A guy he distinctly recalls looking from the girls to him and back again and wiggling his eyebrows in some kind of guy-code for "Hey, cool." Except listening to Carolyn and Lara giggle about vibrators while doing _absolutely no work_ wasn't all that cool. And that Nate dude was kind of an idiot.

So yeah, he knows about Tasteful Treasures (and he remembers scraping a B- on that project by merit of doing all the work, which still pisses him off) and to be honest, he can't claim to be thrilled that his girlfriend feels the need to buy herself a vibrator.

He should be the one to satisfy her, even if he _is_ 350 miles away.

Rachel (4:28 PM): Becky says it's "romance enhancement". Should be fun! ;)

He scowls at the screen as it's brightened by her perky message. What did Becky know, anyway? He'd heard Carolyn and Lara last semester; single and apparently shameless, one had claimed that batteries were all the boyfriend she needed. (Although Nate might've hooked up with Carolyn at Kappa Pi's Halloween party. College relationships were weird.) His relationship isn't, however. At least, he never thought so.

He kind of wishes Art History hadn't been canceled tonight, boring as it usually is. At least it would take his mind off the thought of Rachel at a vibrator party. It's just...not right.

* * *

Any GPS that claims a trip between two universities should take five hours and forty-seven minutes obviously never had a girlfriend at a different one. He manages to make it to the city in less than five hours, eluding any police who may not have understood his desire to sweep his favorite petite brunette into his arms and kiss her senseless. (Because even if they had, they'd probably have ticketed him anyway.)

He runs the three flights up to her apartment, skipping the final two steps on each staircase. It's been seven weeks since he's seen her, since he's held her, and that's seven weeks too many.

She's waiting at the door, peeking around the corner with a radiant smile; her hair falls freely across her shoulders and into loose curls that, _oh gosh_, he wants to lose his hands in right this minute.

Within three strides, he's leaning down, way down, and breathing in her whispered _hello_, making up for seven weeks of not kissing her every day.

She pulls him inside the apartment she shares with two friends. The door quickly closes behind them, and soon another, as his duffel bag skids across the floor of her bedroom.

They don't even make it to the bed.

* * *

It's tradition at this point – pizza for dinner, always, on the first night he visits. They've written their names on the restaurant's wall a half-dozen times now, Finn Rachel or R + F, pretending for a moment that they aren't twenty years old and supposed adults. They've just scrawled their initials over the names of decades'-worth of patrons before them; it's in this moment of levity that he chooses to ask the question he's been wondering about for six days now.

"So, Rach." He clears his throat, adopts a tone of nonchalance. "You never really told me about Becky's party last Friday. I mean, I know you had fun, but –" He gestures with his hands as though he'd like to hear more (because yes, he'd like to hear more), and his voice trails off.

She grins, eyes alight at the memory. "Oh, it was so much fun! We tasted the edible products – mint chocolate chip was my favorite – and tried out all the massage oils and lubricants on the backs of our hands. She passed around each type of vibrator, and she had such a good idea, Finn! She had us pretend we were shaking hands with it to get an idea of how it felt against our skin–" Rachel reaches across the table as if to shake his hand, still grinning. He takes her hand, shaking it, trying to imagine the scene, and he just _can't_.

She goes on. "I learned about sex so long ago, and I've read so much about it since we, you know…" She looks across the table at him with dark, dark eyes and a half-smile, and yes, he knows. "Honestly, I figured that by now I knew the majority of things there were to know…other than the weird stuff."

He nods in response. He's not ready for the weird stuff.

"But oh, my goodness, did I learn a thing or two at that party!" She grins wickedly. "There are products I didn't know existed – a lot, in fact!" Her eyes are wide, as though this had come as a surprise.

"Did you…buy anything?" He had to ask sometime, and now is as good a time as any.

Here again are the half-smile and the deep, dark eyes. She folds her arms and leans forward as he holds his breath (because suddenly this is about way more than vibrators, and he really, really wants to know).

"You'll find out when we get back."

* * *

In his humble opinion, they simply cannot get back fast enough.

He's willing to leave the leftover pizza on the counter and jump directly into bed, but Rachel walks patiently behind him in her apartment, finding a home for the box in the fridge and hanging up their coats. She brushes her teeth, changes into her pajamas, and settles cross-legged into her computer chair as he digs through his bag for his old McKinley football t-shirt.

Apparently, he thinks, she isn't feeling the same sense of urgency to try out the goods. (Which is mildly annoying, because seriously, she's the one who bought them in the first place!) And why in the hell is he even changing into a t-shirt when they'll be taking everything off in short order?

She can read him like a book, and he can tell it amuses her. "Brown bag, top drawer of the nightstand." She points across the room, chuckling softly.

Damn, he loves her. And he tells her so, tilting her chair back with one hand and speaking the words softly against her lips. He's lost in her, like always, in her scent and her soft, soft skin, and the way he knows, somehow, that he'll love her like this forever.

She smiles against his lips. "I love you, too." Pulling the t-shirt from his hand, she whaps it playfully against his leg. "Now go find out what's in that 'discreet package'." Her fingers form air quotes as she speaks. "The consultant made sure to tell us all about how no one would know what we purchased, because it would be in a nondescript paper bag. But of course we all talked about it on the way home!"

He's just about to peek inside when the meaning of her words dawns on him. The crinkling stops as his hand stills, and he looks over at her with wide eyes.

"Your friends know what you bought?" He isn't sure he likes this. At all.

Rachel fixes him with a mock glare. "You haven't even looked inside the bag yet. Maybe I just bought fancy condoms, in which case, who cares who I told? One of the girls, who shall remain nameless, bought anal beads – " (His eyes widen in shock.) "- which are for _men_, and apparently bring about incredible orgasms."

His mouth settles in a silent "oh". He did not know that.

The computer chair creaks, and she crosses the room toward him. Small hands take the bag and place it on the nightstand before wrapping around his waist, palms warm against his back.

"Let's not talk about it anymore, Finn. Let's just go with it."

He doesn't see any reason to argue.

* * *

He was right – there really was no need for his old t-shirt tonight. It's draped forgotten over the arm of her chair, and the button-down he'd worn for the evening is somewhere in the vicinity of her sleep shorts and top.

His tongue traces circles in the valley between her breasts; circles become wide loops and swirls as he moves outward to take her nipple into his mouth, sucking hard enough to hear her gasp above him. Her hand rakes through his hair, nails scraping lightly against the back of his neck in a pattern reminiscent of the one his tongue follows at her chest.

The other hand reaches for the waistband of her underwear; his fingers meet hers as he takes over the task of their removal. The hot, hot wetness of her center is his reward once they're tossed over his shoulder with the rest of the clothes they've shed. When he slips two fingers inside her and begins working her clit with the pad of his thumb, he's gratified to hear the sound of her quickened breathing, and a small whimper that he knows means "more". (In a word – gladly.)

And then he hears her laugh. That's...unusual. His hand stills, and he looks up to see her reaching toward the nightstand, still giggling.

"How did we forget this _already_?"

He has to chuckle, too, when she grabs the paper bag, and the mattress vibrates with their laughter.

She pulls a little pink tub from the bag, turning the label to face him. "Extreme Pleasures – this one's for me!" She laughs again. "It says it tastes like crème brulée!"

He has no clue what crème brulée is, but it's probably tasty, so he's game.

And yeah, it smells fantastic – that's the first affirmative. The second, he thinks, is the way her hips roll toward him, her heat pushing urgently against his hand as he dips his fingers into the little container and reaches toward her breasts.

"That's not where it goes, Finn."

Oh.

He looks up at her, and her eyes drop down to where his hand is pressing into her wetness. (Oh! That makes sense, too.) He gently smoothes the cream over her sensitive skin, and he's almost instantly rewarded with the feel of her muscles tensing beneath his fingers.

Then, of course, there are the sounds she's making. He can swear he hears a _holy shit!_ on her breath when he presses his tongue to her, tasting sweet caramel and Rachel all at once.

He's working his fingers and his tongue in tandem, his erection absolutely straining against his jeans – wondering why in the _hell_ he's still wearing jeans – when she shatters beneath him, twisting the sheets in her hands at her sides.

He holds his tongue against her, hooks his fingers further inside her, in that place she taught him about that may or may not work to get her to feel this way. He watches her face, looking up across the plane of her stomach, and it's thrilling to know that he and a little pot of caramel-flavored cream can make her feel this way.

* * *

"Well," she sighs, eyes wide. "That…worked. Quickly."

"I can't wait to find out what else is in that 'discreet package', Rach. Anything for me?" He's wondering why he ever thought this party was a bad idea.

"Maybe."

She sits up, nudging him over with her knee, giving his jeans a look as she rummages through the bag again. He has them unzipped and off, boxers too, in the time it takes for another little tub to make an appearance. This one is green, its contents minty and sweet-smelling.

His curiosity piques – predictably – when she settles between his legs and drawls, "Your turn."

Her hand grasps his erection, sliding smoothly from bottom to top and back again, starting a rhythm he knows by heart. He's vaguely aware of the beginning of a tingly feeling against his skin as his eyelids slip shut, and damn, it feels good. _Damn_. Her hands know just what to do, know him so well. And suddenly it isn't just a tingly feeling but an _oh holy shit!_ feeling, and his eyes are open in an instant, his hand now holding hers still around his length.

She's wearing a strange expression, something close to triumph, and he looks down to see not only her fingers wrapped around him, but also a stretchy blue silicone ring.

What. In. The. Hell.

"Rachel. What in the hell?" If it didn't feel really, really good, he'd be panicking instead of simply wondering. As it is, it's wonder-bordering-on-panic.

Although her hand is captive, her fingers trail slow lines on his skin, sensitive like never before. It's agony, but it's the best agony he's ever felt.

"The tingly feeling is Stud Mud." She grins at him and adds, "You've always been my stud." Shaking her hand free, she traces the ring of silicone around the base of his erection. "And this is a cock ring. It's supposed to heighten sensation and prolong arousal."

Damn, that would've been effective in high school, he thinks. No mailman.

Suddenly, talking about it doesn't seem to make sense anymore. Especially when her hands slide first to his shoulders, then down his arms, and when her lips brush hot against his jaw line.

With her knees pressed against his sides, she teases him, lowering herself onto his erection without taking him inside, rubbing hot and wet against his length. He gasps into her hair; she sucks his earlobe between her teeth.

"Every product we saw at that party made me think of you." Her words are a warm whisper in his ear. "I'd have bought them all if I could."

He spreads his palms against her thighs, pressing his fingertips into her skin. This is too much. He needs to be inside her, right now.

"Rachel…"

He doesn't need to say anything more. Her hand leaves his shoulder to position him at her entrance, and she sinks back, taking him in all at once, all the way to the little blue ring stretched around his erection.

And their eyes meet, wide and surprised, as he feels her climax immediately.

It's one of the most incredible things he's ever felt, her muscles squeezing around his erection in this heightened state of arousal. Everything is amplified, larger than life, and he's never known a sensation like this.

Then she _moves_, the muscles in her legs still trembling, and it's all on a new level. Whatever the _hell_ that stud-lube is made of, it must be bionic, because this is fucking fantastic.

Every nerve is alive, screaming at his brain that this is the best it's ever felt. His hands at her hips are helping her move, keeping her pace, but it's done on autopilot, born of three years of knowing each other this way. (He's certainly not making any conscious decisions at the moment.)

He feels like he's coming apart, piece by piece, but that's fine, that's good. Right now, that's amazing.

He looks up at her, and damn, she's beautiful; her hair is a curtain around one side of her face and shoulders, swinging toward him as she moves. Their lips connect, and maybe he imagines it, but he's sure he can feel the same fire and passion and love here that connects them otherwise.

She moans through their kiss, the sound vibrating his lips. It's this tiny vibration that seems to spread through him, spiraling from his chest to his abdomen. His strokes become erratic, each breath a gasp, as he nears his orgasm. He's there, so close, when Rachel's lips slip from his and find his collarbone. He hazily realizes a moment later in the feeling of her tongue against his skin that this is her third climax, and he thrusts once more, giving in to the feeling of her muscles pulsing around him.

He's fairly sure this is an experience outside himself. There's white-hot light behind his eyes, the top of his head to the tips of his toes illuminated with it, shining and glittering and _holy shit_, exploding over and over and over. Even his fingertips shake as he pulls her close to him, wraps his arms around her back and tells her how much he loves her.

Her hair drapes across his chest and tickles his skin, and somehow, one or both of them is still quivering somewhere.

It's like it might never end.

But of course the moment comes when she slides to his side (and it's not right without her warmth surrounding him), reaching between them to slip off the stretchy blue ring. Then she's gone from the bed, padding across the room to locations unknown. (His eyes are rapidly closing, against his will).

When she returns, she pulls the covers tight around them, cuddling in close against his chest. He can feel her breath against his skin, and it's a comfort; God, he misses her in the day-to-day. Long weekends and text messages just aren't enough.

His hand settles against her hip as his eyes slip shut. Halfway to sleep, he almost misses the quiet words she speaks into the darkness. Almost.

"Tomorrow, we'll have to try out the rest of my purchases."


End file.
